How It Is
by BrieflyDel
Summary: Unfair? You want unfair? Try arriving at wizarding school at age eleven and finding out that three quarters of the students automatically hate you because some dumb singing hat puts you in Slytherin...


"Baddock, Malcolm!" 

"SLYTHERIN!" 

The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; Harry could see Malfoy clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. Harry wondered whether Baddock knew that Slytherin House had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other. Fred and George hissed Malcolm Baddock as he sat down. 

_Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, _"Chapter 12 -- The Triwizard Tournament"

  
  
Being a B can be a bit of a pain sometimes, especially with role calls, and especially for things that really terrify you. As if entering this weird new world wasn't frightening enough, the towering, intimidating figure of Professor McGonagall had just informed us we'd be divided into Houses in front of the whole school. I knew it was worthless to hope for a lot of A's. I turned to the girl beside me. She had a clever look about her, which made her a likely source for an answer. 

"D'you know what we're supposed to do?" 

She regarded me smugly. "It's just a hat you have to try on. My sister's told me. It's no big deal." 

"Not when you have to go first," I muttered. 

"What's your name?" she demanded. 

"Baddock." 

The girl smirked slightly. "That your first name, then?" 

I reddened. "It's not. And it's not funny." 

"Yeah, Orla, you should talk about funny names," another boy behind us interjected. I gave him a thank you grin. 

Orla looked slightly affronted. "Quirke is a very fine old name," she huffed, but she didn't talk after that. The boy who'd shot her down leaned forward and whispered to me, 

"She lives in the same town as me. She's a big know-it-all. You'll want to avoid her." 

"Yeah, I can see that now," I replied. "What's your name?" 

"Graham Pritchard. Know which House you'll be in?" 

Know? How was I supposed to know? I shrugged. I was about to speak when McGonagall began herding us into the Great Hall. _Here it comes,_ I thought, my head pounding. I felt my knees wobble. I followed the herd of first years up to the front, and waited in the long row in front of the school. McGonagall's green robes swept by me, and I saw her carrying a ragged and dirty hat. She set it almost reverentially on a stool. 

"Eww! That's what we have to try on?" another B named Eleanor (Branstone) breathed. Privately, I agreed. McGonagall reappeared, holding a long parchment. We all watched the hat in silence for a moment, then broke into song. I wasn't really listening to the song -- the thud of my blood drowned out anything else trying to reach my ears. But I heard McGonagall call out the first name. 

"Ackerly, Stewart!" 

A pale, scrawny boy with too much neck hesitantly approached the hat. He sat down on the stool and put the hat on. Everyone in the room waited. After a moment, the hat yelled out, "RAVENCLAW!" Ackerly left the stage and headed toward the table that was clapping the loudest. _This can't be hard, _I reasoned. _And maybe there are more before--_

"Baddock, Malcolm!" 

Cripes! Second? That's an unpleasant surprise. _Look, there's no way of getting around it. You're used to it by now, alright? Show them all it's dumb._ I walked up to the stool, picked the hat up, sat down, and set the hat on my head. 

Immediately it slipped over my eyes, blocking out the candlelit hall. A voice began whispering to me almost instantly. "I say, young man, you're none short of pride, aren't you? Always want to be right. You have little trouble getting help though. You're not right for Gryffindor -- others don't concern you as much as yourself, am I right?" 

_Well, they usually do precious little for me,_ I retorted. _If something's worth doing--_

"It's worth doing yourself," the hat finished. "Yes, I understand. Well, you'll surely do quite well here. You have exactly the traits that would make you happy in SLYTHERIN!" 

It shouted the last word, and as I lifted the hat up, I saw the table on the far right cheering the loudest. _That must be them. _Relieved that it was over (and quickly too), I grinned a bit and cast my gaze over the rest of the hall. What met my eyes was alarming. The middle two tables were clapping, though with sudden expressions of dislike upon their faces. On the far left, the entire table was shooting me openly dirty looks. Two red-haired older boys were even hissing. I was shocked. _They don't even know me. Why are they acting like that?_

Shaken, I walked down the stairs and reached the Slytherin table. A tall, dark-haired boy with a slight stoop eyed me approvingly. "Go down to the middle of the table," he ordered me. "The first Slytherin of the year _always_ sits with Snape and Draco." He looked at me with a sharp, wry smile and a gleam in his eyes. "Malcolm. Malfoy. Isn't this cute." I gaped, but I was in enough of a daze that I obeyed. The only adult at the table was a greasy-haired man with sallow skin and a hooked nose. This was probably Snape -- I'd heard about him from a kid on the train. There was a space between him and a small fourth year with a smug expression and a pale complexion. The boy looked at me almost lazily. 

"Welcome to Slytherin House, Braddock," he drawled. 

I corrected him, and Snape laughed harshly. I looked around the table. A hulking seventh-year glared at me from opposite. A whispy second-year girl was studying me with sunken eyes. After examining the rest of the house, she seemed like the one who wouldn't hit me if I said something wrong. 

I leaned forward. "Why did all those people act like that when I got Sorted?" 

She laughed bitterly. "Because they're all idiots. As soon as you come in here, three quarters of the school automatically hates you for no reason at all. You never even get a chance, so you'd best get used to it. You'll see what I mean." 

The enormity of what she was saying hit me very heavily. The unfairness of it boggled me. I thought of the two redheads hissing at me. 

_You've just entered a cruel little world, Malcolm,_ a voice said. _If no one else will accept you just because of what you are, then you'd better start looking for friends here._

"Creevy, Colin" became a Gryffindor, and the table that had booed me burst into cheers. I peered over the big fellow across from me (Warrington, I later found out) and began imprinting the faces of the people at the far end of the room in my memory. 

_These are the ones who hates you, Malcolm. If the Gryffindors are going to be like that to you, then to hell with them all. You've got better friends than that._ I looked at the sunken-eyed girl across from me. She gave me a stange smile. 

"So you see, then?" 

I nodded, once. "Yes. I do." 


End file.
